I had been asking for a dog for a while. Renting a room from a middle aged spinster, whose redeeming qualities were her bipolar meltdowns and unnatural clinginess, I thought a dog would be that perfect anchor of sanity, something that would keep me from reaching that pinnacle of the too far beyond that I tiptoed near every time I woke up in that house. It was almost 1am when she called me. She worked with me and I had just gotten off the late shift myself. Still in my uniform, I made it back home in time to unload my groceries before my phone sang out from my work pants pocket. I answered it and she asked me, amused, if I wanted a puppy.
I cannot begin to explain how quickly I returned to the store. A ten minute drive, no more than a minute or two in the hot-red speed of my sport Escort. I pulled through the parking lot and dashed to the front door, where she stood with a puppy in her arms. The dog was small--smaller than I had ever seen any puppy and when I held her she nibbled my fingers, the triangular collar of my work shirt. We called her Chewy, paraded her through the store as I bought her shampoo and dog kibble. When I got home I fed her in the bathroom and bathed her in the sink. When we slept, she crawled into the corner of my neck and stayed huddled there the entire night.
I've always grown up with dogs. My mother, gushing after we bought our pure white German Shepard, told me she loved the puppy smell--something like hot milk and the sweetness of a new coat, at least, from what I could tell of it. I never understood until I had that puppy climbing on my shoulder during car rides, panting the moist mist of her breath into my face.
Diamond,
ReplyDeleteFor me the most arresting part of this was the last, “puppy smell--something like hot milk and the sweetness of a new coat, at least, from what I could tell of it. I never understood until I had that puppy climbing on my shoulder during car rides, panting the moist mist of her breath into my face.” I was interested to read and study this piece due to the importance of animals in my own life, and how very difficult it is to write about them. I think you have hit on a key element: using sensory detail in an attempt to de-sentimentalize.
Also to focus on something other than the dog, as in: “a middle aged spinster, whose redeeming qualities were her bipolar meltdowns and unnatural clinginess.” And the idea that “I thought a dog would be that perfect anchor of sanity,” sets up what could be a very humorous story as anyone who has ever had a puppy will know the fallacy of this thinking. As it is right now, the piece slows with tired language such as, “She worked with me and I had just gotten off the late shift myself.” Or “I cannot begin to explain how quickly I returned to the store.”
If you want to turn this into a story, I suggest a strong lead-in, as well as adding revealing dialogue. If a poem is where it’s headed I suggest reading Barbara Ras, her four page poem, simply titled, “Dogs.”
Every time I try to write about my cat, she ends up a ballerina, or yoga master and it just never works out to be a convincing or interesting poem. Ras handles it well. Also, Mary Oliver has a few decent poems in which she gives her dog, Percy a nod. Both might shed some light, especially the Ras one. And James Dickey’s “The Heaven of Animals.” Good luck on the leg of your next journey, Jo